Let me tell you, children, of a time before CG and greenscreens. Days of yore when Speed Racer was a halting, two-dimensional imbecile and Transformers moved their mouths to speak only when absolutely necessary.

In those days, if you wanted some dimensionality in your fantasy, there was only one crazy mother who could hook you up, and if you were lucky, he would stick his hand up something’s ass for your amusement. I’m talking Jim fucking Henson.

Henson knew where it was at. He knew we didn’t want fantastical creatures who couldn’t exist off of a sheet of paper. We wanted REAL fantastical creatures, ones fashioned out of old socks and ping pong balls sawed in half.

And while the Skeksis from The Dark Crystal may pale in comparison to today’s Captain Barbosas and Michael Claytons, they were once the undisputed kings of terrorizing small children.

Which is why I am super-jazzed to let you all know that a live action Fraggle Rock movie is fast approaching theatres. So do like I did and Wikipedia it to remind yourself of the character names, then prepare for a blast of nostalgic epiphany so powerful you may well uncover repressed memories of sexual abuse. Then do the same thing with The Snorks. I know, right?!

The only possible snag I can see is that Ahmet Zappa is signed on as Executive Producer, so there’s a slim chance that Gobo will die of a cocaine overdose and Boober will be into watersports. But on the plus side, he probably can’t give any new characters names more ridiculous than are already in the film. Moonunit Fraggle kind of has a ring to it.

But frankly, I don’t care if the movie is just two Doozers discoursing on the tragedy of Darfur; I’m going to be buying a ticket. That’s how badly I miss Jim Henson movies.

And to those cynics still wowed by slick computer graphics, let me put the question: Can you touch a computer-generated image? Can you hug a bunch of polygons? Can you run away from home, take the wrong bus out of the city, get your money stolen by a homeless man and have to make your way back by taking a ride from a wild-eyed trucker because you thought you were going to get to live with bump-mapped 3D models?

I think not.

And while I’m still holding out for a full-blown return to puppetry (up to and including the production of Labyrinth 2: Hoggle and The Enchanted Codpiece), this movie should help sate my felt fetish for the time being. And whenever I need a quick fix, I can always load up the old Youtube and see what bizarre remixes of the intro are floating around this week.

God bless the Internet.

When not blogging for Cracked, Michael consults with Marjory the trash heap as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets!

Sure, there’s a lot to hate about my co-bloggers: Michael Swaim’s virulent racism; Chris Buckholz’s obsession with child pornography (That’s what Heroes is about, right? I’ve never seen it), and Ian Cooper’s inability to tell black hats from white ones.

But if I had to focus my hatred squarely on one of my peers, I’d to have to go for Ross Wolinsky. “What? The wacky clip guy?” you say. “Surely, he never hurt anyone.”

Well, of course, Ross seems harmless. That’s his trick. If the devil blogged about murdered children that would be too obvious! But Ross with his invisible tacos and handicable breakdancers has moved in under the radar — purveying his evil directly to the masses.

Specifically, I’m referring to his Halloween post where he brought us this clip:

(BTW, you’ll notice that I reproduced the clip in full size. Was that so hard, Wolinsky? Why so stingy? No wonder Swaim calls you a cheap Jew bastard behind your back.) Anyway, seems like just a harmless little bit of horrible music brought to you by Mr. Wolinsky, right? Maybe to you. Maybe to me. But what about the children? Ross has completely ignored the damage that could ensue by putting forth such video. I offer, as proof, my son who had been enjoying The Beatles, David Bowie, and The Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack before Ross came into our lives. Now he spends his days alone in our basement doing this all day long:

Damn, you Wolinsky. Damn you straight to Hell.

So Target has released a new clothing line for young men inspired by David Bowie. Why? Because Wal-Mart was so successful selling Rod Stewart-influenced kitchen utensils, I guess. Actually, I’m not sure. Most young men today think of David Bowie merely as the dude whose name Avril Lavigne couldn’t pronounce.

Nevertheless, as an ardent Bowie fan, I thought I’d take a look to see how Target did:

This first ensemble is clearly inspired by Bowie’s mid 70’s fixation with German fascism. I think that’s a great place to start. I mean, all the kids want to dress like war criminals today, and now Target has made it affordable. Congratulations Target. You nailed The Thin White Duke:

Okay. On to number two. The same black pants, but now featuring a gray velour V-necked shirt. That’s tricky. Yes, the look is vaguely gay, but I was hoping to define the Bowie period a little more specifically. I’m going to have to go with 1972? But c’mon Target. If you want to sell this as Bowie, you really can’t skimp on the Bedazzler. And would it kill you to incorporate some red pleather boots?

Now, this last one had me stumped:

As hard as I tried, I just couldn’t remember a period in David Bowie’s career that fit this look: folkie, glam rock, plastic soul, electronic minimalism, pure pop? When exactly did David Bowie look like a high school mall rat? Oh right! I forgot about Bowie’s brief stint as a GAP commercial model:

Well, done Target. Well done.